Blotto
by hootenannymagic
Summary: Sam's extremely random thoughts at 2-3 AM.


**A/N**

 **Hey humans this is my first (failed) attempt at writing fanfictions, for all my life I was just reading about two thousand ones from other writers**

 **I just found this sitting in my old files, I dont like my own writing as I just described Sam's mind the same as mine here and you absolutely wouldn't too but I just want to try. This oneshot has actually been written way back in 2015 (March i think) and is ninety-five percent OOC.**

 **This one doesn't show much of Sam's remarkable aggressive aura because she doesn't really show much of it in the show than she did back in iCarly, most probably because the show was only due for one annoyingly short season. lmao i know im wrong in some way**

 **That's enough lol feel free to attack me in the reviews and i want to know your ideas because no one wants this ship to sink at least me anyway**

 **blah**

* * *

 _What the hell are you doing?_

You ask yourself as you try to tear your gaze away from the sleeping redheaded girl. You don't really know why you're doing this, but it sure is annoying, not to mention that you've already been doing this for months now.

 _Can you quit it already?!_

Your eyes aren't cooperating with your brain again. And that just annoys you even more.

You also don't get why all this evening your muscles are sore because your bike's engine had to fail in the middle of the highway and you had to fix it right freaking there, because the repair shop is almost 13 impractical miles away and your body is just purely tired, yet, your eyes can still find a way to disrupt how you make your transition to sleep.

You try to sleep by fucking staring at Cat?

Wow.

Do you deserve to be called a Puckett?

You don't.

This isn't a normal routine.

But fate had to make you fall in that pit of love you completely loathe and force the fact that you like this girl down your throat.

God, how you hate that word.

Love.

Urgh. It always makes you want to puke out the irrational hatred with marmalade-colored fluid right into Clauneck's face.

You shift around on your messy bed.

You wonder how that damned word infuriates you so much, but the thought of Cat doesn't. Think about it. Cat is sleeping, and you're in your bed, contemplating again, while staring at Cat sleeping. And you're obsessed with her sleeping form.

Both the word _and_ the thought should be equally irritating you.

But that wasn't the case, so there must be something wrong with your mind. Well, there always has. Yet you're still not getting used to it and you're still annoyed by that fact.

You're not using your mind when all you are doing right now is stare at those brown orbs shut by her eyelids for no reason and when sleep is literally everything to you.

 _Is it really that hard to quit it?_

It's been 18 minutes.

Nothing is difficult to do for you if you had the will to do it. It's 2:41 a.m.

If you can do any better, you could absolutely demand your head to stare at something else right now. You could will yourself out of it. To be clear, you hate saying that something is hard when it's not. (Who doesn't?)

You grunted silently, shrugging off the thought.

You think you know what all this staying-up-staring-at-Cat is for. You think you want to forget.

(Of all effective ways you picked a 50/50 one. Nice.)

Forget what?

Your hopeless illusion that she will reciprocate the currently inexistent liking of who you are as a piece of garbage?

If you are that dumb.

You're out of your mind. Hoping she'll like you? You're not even sure if Freddork did, but you actually did not care about it back then. Now with Cat, you do?

If you would stop fooling yourself on this, staring at Cat causes the opposite. You remember everything.

From the day you met her in a garbage truck because you saved her for absolutely no logical reason (again), to the day she beamed at you because you practically took (or to be clear, stole) the entire set of her favorite television show to her home, to the day she utterly had fun with you on an amusement park you completely thought she wouldn't enjoy, to the day she basically reprimanded you for leaving her alone at babysitting, and up to this day, when you are trying to ride out your obsession of gazing at her sleeping.

 _You think you wouldn't get tired of how she looks while sleeping._

She just looks varied every night. You wonder why that is so.

Maybe your mind isn't trying to perceive the way she looks physically, but instead it's trying to fuse how she always beams at you when she's happy and how she smiles at you while saying dreaded rephrasings of the dreaded "I love you" into what she is as a person.

Although on top of that, she looks the same every bedtime, facing your side, annoying purple stuffed toy snug between her arms.

You question yourself what the heck is all about that.

(Urgh. You mentioned that phrase. Shit.)

Your train of thoughts isn't stopping.

It was almost as if your mind was trying to piece fragments of thoughts that bother you altogether, trying to render the big picture, but instead creating a distorted image of your already fucked-up mindset.

You hate to think about this as much as you hate the word "panties".

At this point you might think Cat is the cause of your distorted mindset.

 _Can't be true._

Or at best, she adds up to your affliction.

By staring at her, you also remember you've been like this all your life, and having Cat just justifies the fact that you peculiarly react to situations that are normal to her.

Heck. You know you're not Cat.

But the thought of having her forces you to think that pessimism, the main foundation of your mindset, just won't make your problems fucking solve themselves.

 _So, you're not going to stop?_

You sigh. Heavily. You wonder what the fuck is wrong with you again. It's 3:26. She's going to wake up in 3 hours.

You never thought you would like how quiet it is at this time of the night. Or morning.

You even forgot you drank half a bottle of tequila this evening without her knowing.

Your body forgot you're drunk.

The first time you got drunk you slept for fourteen hours and then the day after, it wore off just as you and 99% of people would expect it.

Cat definitely has you on her ropes without her even trying. You hate it.

Yet you haven't tore your eyes away from hers for even a second in the last forty-five minutes.

You see her lightly shift on her bed, apparently gripping the stuffed toy firmer. Her lips crook into a small smile showing her dimples in the moonlit room.

You get curious on what she's dreaming about.

 _Of course, unicorns, candies, strawberries and stuffed toys again._

You don't even have to think about that.

You once hated girls that act like Cat. Scratch that. You hated them all your life.

Outgoing, perky, overly bubbly, everything that describes someone that seems to be always playing elevator music in their mind 24/7.

As much as you hate to admit it, Cat is an exception.

When she comes home from school and greets you school is the best place in the world, it takes all of your energy to not get infected by her contagious mood, fake or not.

When you're sick or tired, she takes care of you and you almost always push her away, claiming you can do shit on your own, she still takes time and whisper something in your ear while you're asleep.

You can't describe the hatred you have on being sentimental.

But you wonder where the hell she gets all that patience to put up with an asshole like you.

She thinks you can't hear all of what she whispers in your ear while you're asleep, but you can. And it makes you guilty. Her voice and even her whisper is the only thing you can hear when you're deep in slumber.

You almost never feel guilt. Pucketts don't have that guilt gene. And when you do feel it, it almost mutates into deeper anger.

But it doesn't with Cat. Butting it out to trees or parking meters or 10-year-old nerds in the street don't even tone down the adrenalin in your body like it always did before. It just finds its way to your brain, making you ponder thoughts you hate to think about.

You also can't seem to make you hurt Cat.

Even so, you never did with Carly. But your friendship with Cat is different from Carly's. It's instantaneous; it clicked at the first moment.

You once thought her obvious innocence might just be a tool to conceal other aspects of her character.

You never know.

But you are still guilty. Guilty you might have never shown enough to your friendship with Cat, because you thought maybe that's what she fucking needs. She even mentioned she doesn't have anyone in her life now but you. You aren't into pleasing people.

But she's not just a typical person that you'd hate as you would hate everybody. She's Cat.

She cares about you, and you're just too insufficient for your friendship. Way too insufficient. Carly would say the same.

Yet with Cat, you're not the same as you are years ago. You genuinely hate to admit that it's not a bad thing. While you're obviously not enough for your friendship, there's only one thing you are fucking sure about.

You love her.

 _Cat's eyes flutter, and she sees you staring._

* * *

 **A/N**

 **Alright thanks for wasting your time**


End file.
